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We tumble from womb to tomb ...
from one blackness towards another,
remembering little of the one and
knowing nothing of the other,
except through faith.
Life distracts us, with happiness or struggle,
from seeing the tides that are drawing us towards
those clusters of events called
Crossroads.
More tragically
for our being blind
to them.
The star, the wheel, the butterfly ...
all are in an unseen state of turmoil,
waiting for some signal that
the time has come.
Then, the star explodes,
The wheel of Fate turns,
making a poor man rich,
The butterfly mates and dies.
STORY can say all that is unsayable in the world ...
How can we resist attempting that?
Life has a way of bruising us
until we long for some passage out of ourselves.
That's what STORY does ...
for a few precious moments
it takes us out of ourselves
to become someone other than who we are.
Each of us is a myth within our minds.
We make it up.
It is the STORY of ourselves
we steer our actions by.
It is not the truth of our life.
We could not bear to look at that.
It is the illusion which helps us
keep on going in life.
Man alone
tells STORIES to understand his world.
I believe that there is one STORY
in the all world, and only one,
that has frightened and inspired us.
Humans are caught,
in their lives, in their thoughts,
in their hungers and ambitions,
in their avarice and cruelty,
and
in their kindness and generosity
in their kindness and generosity
in a net of good and evil.
Do they struggle towards the light
or embrace the darkness?
There is no other STORY.
A soul,
having emerged
from the cocoon of this life,
will have left
only the hard, clean questions:
Did I make my time good or evil?
Was my life worth
the pain of my birth?
WHAT IS THE PARTICULAR
MAGIC OF WRITING
THAT KEEPS YOU DOING IT?
Man tells stories to understand his world - exactly!
ReplyDeleteand to understand himself. Thanks for visiting and commenting, Alex.
DeleteThat's an easy answer. If I didn't write my brain would clog and then explode. I don't wish that to happen, so I write. :)
ReplyDeleteOuch! No exploding brains please! :-)
DeleteWriting is like breathing. I just do it. Never asked where it all came from. That part I didn't need to know. :-)
ReplyDeleteAnna from elements of emaginette
Many years ago, I had a specific purpose in writing, to work through my emotion after someone I loved died. Nowadays, I write because I love to write, even when it's rubbish I enjoy it - I enjoy entertaining my readers.
ReplyDeleteBy the way, Roland, have to secured employment? How are you?
No one will hire a 75 year old man fired for committing an unsafe act in a company vehicle although no ticket was issued, no accident occurred, no vehicle damaged.
DeleteThis morning I received an email from the state that my application for unemployment benefits was being denied since I was fired.
The heart has been taken out of me for writing for the moment.
Thanks for asking and caring, Misky :-)
I am so sorry about your job. I am hopeing you'll be able to find something else in a different field to restart, despite what has happened. That stinks about unemployment, also. (Happy belated birthday, by the way. I hope sometime you can celebrate it with more of a smile).
ReplyDeleteOthers have it much worse, but it hurts. :-) Thanks for the belated birthday wish, Miffie.
DeleteWriting is where I find out who I am.
ReplyDeleteWilliam Faulkner said something very similar. See? You and a literary genius think alike. :-)
Delete